Memory Lane
by 123blythe
Summary: Future!Fic. Mr Parcell allows himself to wander the halls of studio 6H - formerly known as TGS with Tracy Jordan. Oneshot.


His hand lingers over the panel in the stuffy, enclosed elevator space, his thoughts racing and heart thundering. He knows what this is going to make him feel like, and he knows it won't do him any good in the long run, yet he still finds himself reaching his hand out to press the smooth, shiny surface of the button. The elevator gives a, familiar 'clunk' and then kick-starts into motion.

The elevator glides down, and he shifts his left hand to look at his timely wristwatch. 2:04 am. Good. There shouldn't be anybody around at this time. The only person he can ever remember working this late was Ms Lemon. His thoughts drift at the memory and he lets a small, lopsided smile toy at the corners of his mouth, before brought out of his trance by the loud 'ding' and clunk of the elevator arriving at his desired floor.

He steps out onto the familiar carpet of the sixth floor and heads down the corridor. As he's walking, he mutters "Okay everyone. If you'll stick close and follow me; we'll make our way to studio 6H, home of TGS with Tracy Jordan!" His heart gives a lurch at the last words he chuckles at the memory. He never got used to walking these halls without a tour group at hand.

Finally arriving at the head of studio 6H, he stops, taking in the sights of what he used to consider his work-home. He looks mournfully up at the posters hanging on the walls, posters of faces he doesn't recognize. He wishes he did recognize them, but his job just hasn't allowed for very much socializing with people that were so far below him. He hates that. He knew that being the president of NBC was going to be a big job and require a lot of work, but he didn't think through what it would do to his friendships. A sigh escapes his lips as he continues his self-given tour.

As he wanders the halls, he takes his first stop of the night; his old page desk. As he walks the length of it, his hand brushes wistfully over the smooth, cold counter-top. He remembers his nights working at this old desk; writing fan mail for Josh, who never seemed to get much, signing Jenna's headshots, or taking care of Jeremy when Tracy wasn't around. He moves around the curved edge and lowers himself into the chair, suddenly being cast into a world of memories. He sits in the chair, looking around the empty hall. He sees familiar faces, he sees the hustle and bustle of what used to be the crew of TGS going about their daily business, the snack table right in front of him filled with everybody's favourite food, he could even hear Tracy calling his entourage meetings.

He slowly pulls himself up, and after one last glance at the desk, he walks on. Pacing the halls meaningfully, he wanders into Ms Maroney's dressing room. He doesn't know whose it is now, but the appearance hasn't changed all that much at all. Enough stayed the same for him to be able to remember quite vividly the things that had happened in that room; all the times he'd give Jenna her lunch and gotten it thrown back at him, the time he had to encourage her to eat, which ended in Jenna being the wrong kind of crazy (remembering that made him shudder, but chuckle as he grew to find it a fond memory over the years), he remembered having to seduce her to get a magazine that Liz thought would get her all riled up, and he remembered when his momma and Ron came visiting, and how his feud with Ron was somewhat resolved because of Jenna. He remembered one of his favourite things was walking by her dressing room, and just hearing her singing to herself. Boy, he sure does miss her…-

No, he has to get out. He doesn't want to get too emotional, and even before his trip down memory lane is even half over.

With that, he continues. He walks down the hall to the writer's room. The oval shaped table and scattered chairs still in place. He remembers his page duties most clearly here. When he'd do his rounds and get everybody's lunch. When they'd sometimes forget to say thank you and not treat him great… but that didn't matter now. He misses them all the same. He misses Mr Rossitano's goofy hats and Mr Spurlock's Harvard stories, he misses having breakfast in the kitchen area with Mr Hornberger, he misses seeing Ms Cerie at her desk; she was one of the nicest people to him, especially when she would come on food-runs with him – even if she didn't carry any of the bags, it sure was nice to have the company.

He continues through the writer's room onto Liz's office. He misses her a lot. He misses how she would never give up on something, he misses how much she loved food, and how she would sometimes be the only company he had when he worked through the night, other than Subas. Often she didn't want to be disturbed, though it was nice just to know there was someone else around. He didn't like being alone. Her office used to be cluttered up with all sorts of nick-nacks, now it's almost completely empty.

Again, before he gets too emotional, he removes himself from the room. He knows where he's headed next. He walks back down the deserted hallways of studio 6H and onto the only room he made be left untouched. He shuffles into the room of memories and his heart gives a stubborn squeeze and his stomach lurches. He often gets overwhelmed in here, and today is no different to the few other times. He looks around; everything is exactly how it used to be, all that's missing are the people. Particularly the person he misses so dearly. Mr Jordan was always so nice to him, he even invited him to be a part of his entourage all those years ago. His posters are still up, and joining them are the ones of Jenna too, he couldn't just let them be thrown away after… well, after _that_. Jeremy's cage is still up, and the red leather couches are still there. The countless entourage meetings are still fresh in his memory; sitting on the couches with Mr Slattery and Mr Griswold, with Tracy in front. He misses him dearly, and as he sits and remembers, he can feel tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He shakes his head. No. Not now. Forcing the tears back, he gets up and leaves before he can decide otherwise.

He trudges back to the elevator, and presses the button for floor 52. The ride up feels like only ten seconds as he loses himself in his world of reminiscence, before he steps out onto his floor. He wanders to the door of the office. Jack's office. He never could get used to calling it his own, nor did he want to. He likes holding onto memories for as long as he can. He thinks back to earlier that month, when he had an unexpected visit from Ms Lemon, the great granddaughter of Ms Lemon. And would you believe it, she pitched a show. He had to hide his excitement during the meeting, and oh how he wanted to just explode with glee, but he couldn't, he couldn't let off too strongly that those were the stories that he lived. He knew each and every one of those wonderful, wonderful stories. And he simply can't wait to see them air on television. Just like Ms Liz Lemon wanted. He feels bad for not taking up the idea when Liz first pitched it, but he's somewhat glad he didn't. Now, it'll almost be like reliving the stories, only on television.

He sits in front of a television screen in his office now, and opens the front drawer to his desk to pull out a DVD. After revisiting all those memory provoking places, what better way to wind down for the night than with reruns, right? He puts the DVD in and lets himself go. Hearing the theme song for TGS was enough to push him over the edge. As Tracy and Jenna appear on the screen, he lets himself cry. Just this once, and not a lot, but he lets himself do it. He watches the sketches with a smile on his face, as small, unevenly timed tears slip from the corners of his eyes. He would never be used to this. He would never be used to losing people.


End file.
